Family Portrait
by Harley4479
Summary: Kylie Quinzel is living with her grandmother, fairly isolated from the rest of the world. Her mother's visits are spare and she knows nothing about her father. Then, strange changes start to throw her life off balance. For some reason she appears to be of interest not only to criminals, but also the police. The young woman finds herself as a toy in the fight for Gotham City.
1. Homecoming

Hello everybody! The story you're about to read is actually a translation from the German original. I'm therefore not the actual author, but have her permission to translate it all. This is the first part of a three-part-series, where the third one is currently being written and uploaded in German. For those of you interested in the source material, I'll link the story below. I hope you'll be having as much fun reading this story as I had, and am currently having, while translating it.

.de/s/5172a0a30001b5740680cf09/1/Family-Portrait

She was back.

I could sense it the moment the doorbell rang.  
Checking the fluoresced digits of my alarm clock, which was telling me that it was 11pm, gave me certainty, so to speak.  
She'd always come at night when it was dark and the streets were empty.

I didn't have to hustle oud of my room, run downstairs and race to the entrance to find out who was standing there.  
Just like I'd surely had done it three years ago.  
Just like I'd always done it. But I wasn't 13 anymore. I was 16.  
And I knew the game that was starting once more when my grandma opened the front door. I knew it and I was done with it. So done.

I turned to lie on my side, pulling the covers over my head and trying to fall back asleep. Preferably for the next three months. She never stayed longer than that.  
The longest she'd endured were five months, the shortest four weeks.  
But generally, she stayed three months.

I could already feel a dull anger rising up inside of me.  
I tried to supress it.  
If I thought about it any longer I wouldn't find rest anymore.  
I'd lie here numbed, with clenched fists and tightened muscles.  
And the next morning would be awful. She wasn't worth all that.

I exhaled and tried not to think of anything.  
Tried to think about Jake from class who I fancied a lot and about the upcoming school dance and what I was going to wear to that event.  
In short: normality.  
The normal life of a 16-year-old girl with all her little problems.  
It felt like standing in front of a wall painted over and over with flowers. Yet everywhere little black spots started appearing and they only seemed to grow the more I looked at them.  
Franticly, I tried to paint over them. Quick, quick, before they grow anymore! If I can't see it, it'll disappear eventually!

My jaw hurt. Without realising it, I had started clenching my teeth tightly.  
My pyjamas, only consisting of an oversized t-shirt, were drenched with sweat.

I swung my legs out of bed and reached for my jeans, lazily hanging over my desk chair, to get to the pack of cigarettes I kept inside the back pocket.  
I opened the window, lit one of them and blew the smoke outside.  
Under my windowsill I could hear a soft murmur of voices.  
I recognised the hoarse but vigorous tone of my grandma and her answers.  
They sounded quiet, glum and desperate.  
From time to time you could hear a sob.  
I wanted to press my hands to my ears to shut out her whining, or rather drop to all fours and start hammering the flour, throwing wicked insults at her.  
Instead I sat there like a statue, listening to her bright, clear voice.

I knew the frailty that was now audible in every nuance would fade over the next few weeks.  
Her strength and determination would return.  
Impatience and annoyance would follow swiftly, chased by the big silence.  
Then she'd disappear. In the middle of the night, without a word.  
Just like how she came.  
Just like it had always been.

I was so over it all. I flicked the cigarette out of the open window, closed it and went back to bed.  
Fortunately, it was finally quiet downstairs.  
My pulsed had started to calm down a bit and I managed to supress the thoughts about the following morning, which I wasn't anticipating.  
I fell asleep.


	2. My mother

As I woke up the next morning I initially didn't know why I felt so lousy.  
It was a Saturday. A gorgeous, free day laid ahead of me and the sun was smiling down from a cloudless blue sky into my little room.  
Slowly, the memories of last night's events returned.

I sat up and listened. From the kitchen, which was located directly underneath my room, I could hear the clatter of dishes, the burble of the coffee machine and two female voices.  
Damnit, they were awake already!  
My hastily thought up plan to grab myself a piece of toast and lock myself up in my room for the rest of the day or hang around outside, was now officially cancelled.  
Stay calm, Kylie. You're not a little kid anymore. You can do this.

I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to get dressed.  
I normally didn't get dressed before breakfast.  
But I couldn't face her like this.  
I needed some more time to prepare.  
How should I face her?  
Cold? Angry? Happy?  
What was I supposed to say to her anyways?  
Besides, I felt too vulnerable in my pyjamas.  
It would be easier for me when I was made up.  
I thought.  
It was like assembling a sort of armour.

I slipped into a pair of black jeans that reached just below my knees and were being held together by a studded belt.  
I then put on a maroon tank top, roughly pinned up my hair at the back of my skull, rimmed my eyes with black eyeliner and painted my lips red.  
Even though I was finished I ended up tugging at my hair and applying more eyeliner until I realised what I was actually doing.  
I was stalling for time.  
My hands were drenched.  
I was afraid.  
This in turn made me angry again.  
After all, this was my house!  
Or at least more my home than hers!  
And I wasn't the one that had messed up.  
So, what was I even afraid of?

With my head held high I stepped out of the bathroom and began rumble down the stairs extra loudly.  
The closer I came to the kitchen door the more my heart started pounding again and my throat became tight once more.  
I felt sick and started slowing down automatically.  
The voices in the kitchen had gone silent.  
Of course, they must had heard me.  
Now I started regretting being this loud.  
I would have preferred to stand behind the door for a while, listening undetected.  
Whatever! It was too late for that now.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door with a jolt.  
Grams was standing at the sink, putting ham and cheese on a plate.  
As always, she greeted me with a warm, loving smile.  
"Good morning my darling, did you sleep well?" I forced myself to return the smile, stepped closer and gave her a kiss on the cheek.  
"Morning Grams."  
Now there was no more delaying.

I turned slowly towards the kitchen table in the corner of the room.  
There she was.  
In jeans, a simple, blue sweatshirt that Grams had probably lent her. '  
When she came, she never had anything with her besides the clothes on her back.  
Those were mostly torn and stained with filth, dust and blood.  
Her long, light-blonde was tied up in a loose ponytail.  
I remembered loving to brush and braid her hair, back when I was a little girl.  
Sometimes we would spend days playing hair salon.  
She'd do my hair and in turn I'd do hers.  
Those were wonderful days in which I had her all to myself.  
When I could feel that she was entirely here and her love only reserved for me.  
The wall I had built up around me began crumbling already and I hated myself for it.

It only got worse when I met her ice-blue eyes.  
They glanced at me tired, drained but also filled with tenderness.  
"Hello Kylie.", she said quietly.  
I swallowed hard.  
"Hi Mum."  
My gaze travelled over the bruise on her left cheek and the bloody tear in her eyebrow.  
On her lips I could see another wound, encrusted with blood.  
He seemed to have done a good job.  
As usual.  
The sentiment that had flared up for a moment was smothered by the anger and contempt that took over.

I sat down across the table from my mother and Grams promptly put a piece of toast on my plate, even though my appetite was long gone.  
I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop staring at my mother.  
She had grown older since the last time I had seen her.  
But she was still beautiful.  
A lovely woman in her late thirties.  
Determined and intelligent, with a doctors degree and a shining diploma.  
It was still hanging in my Gram's living room, inside a golden frame.  
A reminder of what her beloved daughter could have been.  
I had looked at it many times.  
Why was she doing all this to herself?  
Why?  
I'd never understand.  
I didn't even want to.  
And she wasn't able to explain it to me.  
That's why we'd stopped talking about it a long time ago.  
But then, there was not much left to talk about.  
We had always lived in two separat worlds.  
From time to time she visited mine.  
I never had access to hers.  
I didn't even know where it was.  
Grams had done everything to keep my away from it all.  
Questions were strictly forbidden.  
We didn't own a TV or a newsletter subscription.  
There weren't any neighbours in a 6 mile radius.  
We lived isolated in a small house at the edge of the forest.  
Every day I had to walk a few hundred meters to the next bus stop to get to the tiny village where my school for the past six months, was located.

My mother studied me just as thorough and with quiet affection.  
"You seem so grown up, Kylie. How old are you now?"  
"16", I answered coldly and began to spread some jam on my toast.  
Not even this she could remember!  
"My birthday was last month." The accusation in my tone was unmistakable.  
Mother lowered her gaze into her mug of coffee and fell silent.  
"So? How long are you going to grace us with your presence this time?", I said pointedly and bit into my toast.  
My mother's fingers clutched around her cup, but she didn't answer.  
My grandma cleared her throat and put a gentle hand on her shoulder  
"You can stay as long as you want, Harleen, you know that. Mr. Miller is looking for a temp in his shop right now. He doesn't pay much but maybe you could… ."  
I burst out in cold, nasty laughter "You don't seriously think that she'll stay and find a job? She isn't here to build up a life or because she cares for either you or me! She's only here to lick her wounds and then go back to this bastard who only… ."

With a jolt my mother stood up and glared at me.  
For a moment I thought, she was going to slap me, but then she let down her hand again and hissed "Don't ever talk that way about him, understood? You know nothing! Nothing about me and… Mr. J.!"  
Now it was my turn to jump up from my seat and shout back "I don't even want to know! It's enough to see what he's doing with you! I don't care about your sick relationship!"  
"This is love! This means there's good and bad times! He didn't mean it like that. Lately he's just… he… he's under great pressure. Nothing went as planned and when Bat… ."  
"Harleen!", interrupted Grams angrily. "Be quiet!"

My mother sank back onto her seat.  
I stared at her.  
What was she talking about?  
There it was again, the big mystery that I had been trying for so many years to unveil.  
What exactly was my mother doing when she wasn't sitting at my Grams like a picture of misery getting patched up?  
And who was this mysterious Mr, J.?  
I didn't know anything about him.  
Only recognized his signature in my mother's body and his ingeniousness from her words.  
This man, whoever he was, made so many spots on her body hurt but also light up her eyes like no one else.  
Not even me.  
I used to feel a deep envy when I was younger.  
He was taking my mother away from me.  
Again and again.  
When she came to us, she was always there just for me.  
She played, painted and sang with me and I could feel that she truly loved me, despite it all.  
But that never lasted long.

After a few weeks he came back, even though it was just in her head. He snuck into her thoughts like poison and took control of her mind. I could be standing right beside her and plead and scream she would only sit there and gaze into nothingness, her heart and head already back with him. Shortly after, her body would follow. I never knew it any different. I knew, they were together since I was born. About my father, I knew nothing. Not even his name. For the longest time that hadn't bothered me.

When I was younger it seemed normal to me that my family consisted of only my grandmother and mother.  
I didn't know that there had to be a father to every child.  
It was only when I entered school and visited my classmates at home that I realised something was missing.  
I asked Grams but she only ever gave vague answers.  
I rampaged and acted up in every way possible, but she wouldn't budge her assertion that she didn't know who my father was.  
My mother apparently hadn't told her and she didn't want to talk about it anymore.  
She loved me more than anything on this planet and asked if that wasn't enough to me?  
Eventually, I gave up.  
But my thoughts had kept cycling around it from time to time.  
But now that I grew older, a suspicion had started rising up inside of me.  
Be it only because I could never have imagined my mother laying eye upon any other man than him…  
No! No, no, no!  
I hastily suppressed any thought of it and brought my attention back to the here and now.

I looked at my mother disdainfully and hissed "Do whatever you want! If you're so stupid to let him give you shit over and over again, that's not my problem! I'm telling you only one thing, the guy doesn't love you! He's never loved you, you're only deceiving yourself!"  
And on that note I spun around and stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed my jacket out of the hallway and made my way to the bus station.


	3. My life

I hated bus rides.  
Being jammed in a small space with lots of people always made me irritable.  
However, it was our only connection to the outside world.  
We lacked the finances to buy a car.  
Grams and I were only living of the pension of my grandfather who had been an official in some important position in Gotham City's administration.  
I couldn't really remember as I had been only five years old when he'd died.

Sometimes I wished that my grandparents had never left Gotham City.  
At least there we'd have good transport facilities, busses and subways that were driving around the clock.  
Plus the comprehensive amusement facilities, cinemas, bars, clubs, discos, theatres and festivals!  
Here, the biggest highlight seemed to be the annual town fair, where everyone got together to get shitfaced collectively.  
Yawn.

Even though I had spent nearly my entire life here, I never really felt like I had arrived, like I had become one of them.  
I was somehow – different.  
And even though that sounded special and mystic – essentially it was just shitty.  
Because everyone wishes to belong somewhere, at least sometimes.  
I never belonged anywhere.  
Much less here.  
Somehow there'd always been a trench between the other teens and me.  
After my return from the school for the gifted and talented, it became even worse.

With a sigh, I propped my head against the cool window glass, while fields and forests where flashing by.  
I'd went to primary school here, but the classes had begun boring me soon.  
The subject matter had been childishly simple and because I'd never felt challenged enough I was always doing mischief.  
I painted my table, kept distracting my seatmate or talked back to the teachers until they'd throw me out of class.  
More than once I had to write the sentence "I must not draw with crayons on the walls." in my notebook.  
And more than once my Grams had an appointment with the headmistress because of me.  
Eventually, she became desperate because she wasn't able to handle me anymore.  
Then, finally, my art teacher, who I was getting along with quite well, discovered that I wasn't, in fact, hyperactive but instead highly gifted.  
The situation got immensely better after I was allowed to skip a class because I finally felt challenged enough.

After finishing elementary, my teacher and Grams did everything to get me into a special school.  
The problem, as usual, was money.  
They ran from bureau to bureau to get me a scholarship and when I turned 13, they succeeded.  
From that moment on I went to a boarding school, a good hour-long bus ride away from Goldfield.  
Grams was so happy.  
She thought everything would be better now.  
The opposite was the case.

Even though the classes and teachers were a lot better, because we actually got difficult tasks, everything else pissed me off quite quickly.  
Especially my classmates.  
All of them had grown up in wealthy families and they only seemed to be talking about one thing: money, money, money.  
All of it was only ever about who had the best of the best.  
I felt constantly interviewed:  
Where were you on holidays? What car does your dad drive? How much does he earn?  
Obviously, I was quickly branded as a misfit.  
I had neither money, nor parents that I could proudly tell other people about.

The other students rapidly told me, non-verbally most of the time, that I was never going to be a part of them, which was convenient to me since I found them horrible anyways.  
The entire atmosphere appeared downright toxic I didn't feel comfortable at all and began skipping classes.  
It started with simply not going to one lesion at a time and then I sometimes stayed away for whole days.  
I spent this time mostly on my own wandering through the surroundings of the school since it was located a bit remotely on top of a hill.  
I had found a small space there for me.  
A lake surrounded by huge trees.  
There I sat for hours, starring at the water, painting and writing songs.  
That was probably my only, real hobby.  
I genuinely enjoyed singing as well and music soon became the only subject I'd even show up to.

Of course, it wasn't long until my teachers caught on to what was happening.  
They wrote to my Grams, she'd in turn tried appealing to my conscience.  
It didn't help.  
Then came the end of the year and my grades where shared with the bureau that was financing my education.  
Promptly, my scholarship got cancelled and shortly after my 15. birthday I had to leave the school.  
I wasn't sad about it, the opposite was the case.  
Only for Grams I felt sorry.  
She cried a lot.  
I think she was scared that I was going to disappoint her just as much as my mother once did.  
She'd also had the best preconditions for a steep career – and ultimately had thrown it all away for… whatever.

I faithfully promised Grams that I was going to better myself.  
Now I was finally back in my familiar surroundings and the old high school I was supposed to go to in the first place.  
Since a lot of my old friends from elementary were going there I was sure to find my way there shortly.  
It could only go up.  
I was wrong.  
My so called "friends" never forgave me that I had gone to a school for gifted children.  
They thought that I was taking myself for something better and my coming back only made them express their spitefulness.  
"Well, the higher you climb, the harder you fall. Serves you right that you didn't make it there.", had one of my former classmates said to me.  
And so I was alone all over again.  
It wasn't a good time and the only reason I didn't fall back into old habits was the promise I'd given my grandma.

About half a year ago everything got a bit easier.  
I'd found friends, although outside of school.  
They were four young men, all working a job that didn't interest them at all.  
They'd much prefer to be standing on a stage, doing music and touring through big cities to escape town life.  
It was this dream that had brought us all together even though we were pretty different people.  
The boys had a little band but were missing a singer.  
They wrote a notes telling everyone they were looking for an appropriate candidate.  
One of those ended up on the notice-board of my school.  
I hesitated for quite some time but in the end told myself that I didn't have anything to lose.  
I went to their rehearsal room, which was actually just a garage, and auditioned.  
An hour later, I was a part of the group. To this day Jason, Phil.  
John and Sam where are only people to which I have contact privately.  
And that was enough for me.


	4. My friends

With a jolt, the bus came to a halt.  
"Final stop.", the diver exclaimed cheerfully.  
I looked up.  
Truly, we already were in Goldfield.  
I got off the bus and started wandering through the streets to the rehearsal room in hopes of finding one of the boys inside.  
The chances were high, since they spent just about every free second in there, plucking at their instruments, drumming or composing new songs.  
I craved to be with them to forget about what was waiting for me at home, if only it was for a few hours. I was lucky.

Jason, our guitarist, was sitting on the small sofa pushed against the wall and appeared to be lost in thought when I entered the garage through the side door.  
"Hi", I greeted him with a grin and a hug, he reciprocated.  
After letting go of each other he looked me over and his gaze became serious.  
"Got in trouble?"  
"Why?" This guy could be creepy sometimes.  
"You kind of look like it." I put off his concern and sat down in the small, mothy chair in the corner.  
"The usual, nothing special."

Even though I could talk to Jason about lots of things, not about this.  
My family was a topic that no one was concerned with.  
Maybe I was already copying my grandma who'd always made a big secret out of it.  
None of my friend were aware of my strange family situation.  
Kind of obvious.  
How should I talk about something that even I didn't fully understand.  
I'd only told the boys the same thing I'd told anyone: that my mother was a psychologist (which wasn't a lie) and that she worked in Gotham City at Arkham Asylum (which was where she'd had her first real job after her graduation). My dad had vanished before I was born and I had no contact with him (which was also true).

The four had accepted it that way and had never asked any questions.  
Generally, we only rarely spoke about our families.  
We were mostly occupied by our biggest passion: music.  
Thankfully, it was the same this time.  
After Jason had examined me thoughtfully once more, he turned to his guitar and casually mentioned  
"I've sent it now, by the way." I looked at him with confusion, then broke out in laughter.  
"No you didn't!"  
"Sure! I said I'd do it, so I did it. Did you think that was only hot air? As if!"  
I lit up a cigarette for myself and shook my head, smiling.  
"We don't even have a chance."  
"Hang on."  
"Hey, the best bands of Gotham City will be playing there. Why would they also take a small village group that no one's ever heard of?"  
"Because we have a great singer and a dashingly handsome guitarist?" I sighed deeply.  
"And even if they let us perform… the Music Night in Green-River is on a Thursday."  
"So what? I'm faking sick on Friday, and everyone else too. You could also skip this once."  
I shook my head.  
"My grandma would never let me. I wouldn't even be allowed to go to Gotham."  
"Why not?"  
I shrugged and let the cigarette fume escape my mouth.  
"She says that there's too many weirdos there and she's not completely wrong with that, is she? Apparently this city makes people go insane. That's why my grandparents moved away from there in the first place."  
"But we'll be there and protect you."

I smiled.  
"I don't think that that's going to convince her. She has a serious repulsion of that city for some reason."  
Jason looked at me.  
"And you don't know why?"  
I shrugged  
"She only ever tells me that she'll never set foot in there again ant doesn't want me doing so either."  
Jason sighed and tuned his guitar.  
"Well, whatever. You're probably right and we'll not be picked anyways. Why go crazy over it now? Come on, let's rehearse instead. Your mic is lying around here somewhere… ."


	5. A trace

Nervously, Blade bit into the tip of his index fingers until he could taste blood.  
He cursed quietly and let his hand down while listening to the stead tooting of the mobile phone.  
Finally, someone picked up. "  
Yes?", someone barked through the receiver.  
"It's me", Blade murmured.  
"Did you find her?"  
Blade swallowed hard  
"No. I… ."  
"What?!"

The 18-year-old hastily whipped the phone away from his ear, but even now he could hear the furious voice of his collocutor loud and clear.  
"You can't be serious! How stupid are you? What's so damn hard at following the crazy nut job woman of this clown?"  
"I followed her 'till Goldfield.", Blade explained  
"But then I lost her tack. I'm really sure that she's still around here somewhere. She definitely hasn't left this dump… ."  
"Around here somewhere, just hearing this! Now listen closely you little scumbag: The Penguin wants this bitch not around here somewhere! He wants to know exactly where she is! And it's your responsibility to find that out, got it? Otherwise you won't have to step foot into Gotham ever again!"  
Blade rolled his eyes.  
"Alright, alright, calm down a bit. I'm going to… ."  
He went silent and his eyes widened.

"What are you going to?", yelled his collocutor.  
"Wait a second", murmured Blade.  
He stepped out of the shadow of the house at which's facade he'd been leaning and studied the other side of the street.  
Over there, a young woman appearing to be around 16 had just emerged.  
Her bright hair flickered in the light of the setting sun and her clothes emphasized her slender figure.  
Everything about her, even her smooth motions, seemed familiar to him.  
Blade swallowed hard.  
"That can't be… am I going mental?"  
"Hey, are you still here?", shouted the angry voice from inside the phone.  
Blade didn't give it any attention, but rather pulled out a crumpled-up photo, out of his jacked, using his free hand.  
His gaze sliding between the photo and the girl.  
"Unbelievable!"  
"Would you respond, you stupid idiot!"  
Blade brought the phone back up to his ear.  
"I'm back."  
"Finally! What was that all about?"  
"Sorry, that was an emergency. I just made a pretty interesting discovery that'll probably get me closer to my goal. Tell Cobblepot I'll be calling again soon."  
"You can't… ." But Blade had already hung up.


	6. The first step

It was strange.  
On the entire way to the bus stop I kind of felt like someone was following me.  
I looked around once more but couldn't spot anyone.  
Apparently I was starting to see ghosts already.

The bus came, I got on and slumped into one of the seats. Just like the sun outside the window, my mood was sinking with every meter we got closer to my house.  
Secretly, I wished that my mother would be gone when I was back.  
It would be best that way. For everyone involved.  
After we had started yelling at each other from being in the same room for ten minutes I didn't even want to imagine how much the situation would escalate over the next few days. In regards to bitching, I was definitely her daughter.  
Grams wouldn't be able to deal with it if we went on.  
She always hurt when my mother and I were fighting.  
I decided to not get this aggressive anymore, for Grams sake.  
But I couldn't promise anything.

Suddenly, something caught my attention that even managed to banish my mother from my thoughts.  
A black motorcycle, with a red lighting streak painted on its side, was driving closely behind the bus.  
The driver was also clad completely in black and was wearing a helmet with a reflective visor.  
The strange thing was that he didn't attempt to pass us.  
The machine definitely had like 200 PS.  
Why did he stay behind the bus?  
Probably for a good two miles now.  
Anyways, that wasn't important now.

I turned around again, but still felt weirdly uneasy.  
Even though there wasn't a real reason.  
Didn't matter if that guy was driving behind us!  
But I couldn't resist and turned around again.  
Somehow, I had this stupid feeling that his gaze behind the helmet was fixed on me.  
Again, I turned my back on him and actually managed not to turn around again until I reached my destination.  
When I got outside, the first thing I did was look towards the motorcyclist.  
He was gone.  
I took a deep breath.  
He'd probably just turned onto some other street.  
The way I was acting was just silly.  
Since when was I that much of a chicken?

Still shaking my head I went home.  
Apparently, Grams and Mum had already eaten dinner.  
My table setting was still there and when Grams noticed my appearance she brought me bread, different spreads and sat next to me, focusing on a needlework she was handling.  
"Where have you been?", she asked while pulling a thread through the eye of a needle.  
"In the rehearsal room. Afterwards I went for a coffee with Jason.", I answered while taking a bite of my sandwich.  
Grams simply nodded.  
Then there was a silence.  
I tried to look as occupied with eating as possible while asking casually "Where's Mum?"  
"Upstairs in the guest room."  
"Is she asleep already?"  
"I don't know. Why don't you go and look? She'll be happy about it."  
"Whatever.", I said, letting my anger out on the bread I was still clutching.  
"She'd only be happy when her grand thug would be standing on our door mat. I don't mind not having to see her anymore today."  
Grams seemed equally glum and chiding.  
"Kylie, don't be so harsh to her. You know, your mother is… sick. She… I'm sure she'd want to act differently if she could… but she can't. She's obedient to this man."

I sighed.  
"I get it, this isn't the first time I've heard this. But it's not as if she was really trying to get away from him, right?"  
"You're wrong. Every visit of hers was a try. A part of her is still fighting, even if it's weak. This man has enormous power over her. If we don't help her, she doesn't stand a chance. My poor, little girl… ."  
Grams dried the corner of her eye with a tissue.  
"I'm often asking myself what we did wrong, your grandpa and I.  
What were we not able to give Harleen that she thinks she can only get from this man? Or… ?"  
"Stop it.", I bid empathically.  
I stood up, wrapped my hands around her and said with a reassuring tone  
"You and grandpa definitely didn't do anything wrong. It was Mum's decision."  
Grams hugged me tightly and whispered  
"Still, Kylie… try to reconcile with her. Please. It breaks my heart to see the two people, I love more than anything, like that. Please go to her. I know that she misses you. Just like you do too."

Grams distanced herself a bit and smiled through her tears.  
She gently stroked my cheek, her hand shaking noticeably.  
"Go to her, my girl."  
I sighed quietly and gave Grams a brief kiss.  
I'd do anything to never see her this so sad again.  
I owed that to her.  
It was because of me that she'd that so much trouble over the last years, but she'd always remained by my side.  
I straightened up, left the kitchen and walked to the end of the hallway were the guest room was located.


End file.
